She created a folder.
COPPER ASH.
At 8:47, Lauren called.
Maya answered.
Lauren spoke quietly.
“Grant says you threatened legal action.”
“I haven’t spoken to anybody.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you telling me?”
“Because he’s saying you’re unstable.”
Maya closed her eyes.
“Did you read the final incident report?”
Silence.
“Lauren.”
“Yes.”
“Was it the same one he typed while I was in the office?”
Long silence.
“No.”
Maya stood.
“What changed?”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“I have two children.”
“A mortgage.”
“If Grant knows I’m talking to you.”
“Lauren.”
“He added things.”
“What things?”
“Intoxication.”
“Safety risk.”
“Threatening behavior.”
Maya felt cold.
“He changed it afterward.”
Lauren whispered:
“Stop fighting him.”
“Please.”
“Find another restaurant.”
“Quietly.”
“He knows people all over the Short North.”
“He has made hiring difficult for employees before.”
That warning told Maya more than Lauren intended.
“So this is normal.”
“No.”
Lauren answered too quickly.
Then softer:
“I have to go.”
The call ended.
At noon, Harold called.
Maya had given her number on a receipt once when customers requested catering information.
He apparently found it through the restaurant’s customer follow-up record before leaving.
“Miss Bennett?”
“Yes.”
“Harold.”
Maya looked at the unpaid tuition notice on her laptop.
“What can I do for you?”
“Coffee.”
“I think I caused enough damage.”
“You didn’t fire me.”
“No.”
“But I was the reason Grant found an excuse.”
Maya almost said he was right.
Instead:
“Where?”
A cafe across from Columbus State.
Harold sat in the corner wearing the same canvas coat.
In daylight he looked less fragile.
The sawdust still clung near one pocket.
Two coffees waited.
So did an envelope.
Maya sat.
“If that’s money.”
“It is.”
“I can’t take it.”
“You lost wages because of me.”
“I lost wages because Grant lied.”
“Different thing.”
Harold pushed the envelope closer.
Maya pushed it back.
“I didn’t defend you so you’d owe me.”
“I defended you because they were wrong.”
Harold studied her.
No offense.
No wounded pride.
He withdrew the envelope.
“What would help?”
“A statement.”
He nodded.
Maya opened her laptop.
Harold described everything.
The joke.
Wallet.
Open table.
Grant’s instruction.
Maya’s refusal.
His own behavior.
He signed at the bottom.
Then he started asking questions.
“How often is Caldwell there?”
“Couple times a month.”
“Do employees report complaints through Lauren?”
“Usually.”
“What if the complaint concerns her?”
“Regional.”
“Meaning Grant?”
“Yes.”
“What if it concerns Grant?”
Maya looked at him.
“I don’t know.”
Harold’s mouth tightened.
“How many employees quit this year?”
“A lot.”
“Why?”
“Restaurant work.”
“School.”
“Better jobs.”
“Grant.”
“How?”
Maya hesitated.
Then told him about weekend shifts disappearing after people complained.
About Tasha challenging an off-the-clock private party.
About Luis, a bartender who reported tip discrepancies and suddenly received every Sunday closing shift despite having shared custody of his son.
Harold listened.
“What do you want if they reverse this?”